Shadow Priest

Masley looked horrifyingly battered now! The black panther struggled up from the ground, balancing precariously on three legs. He held one leg raised, but it was visibly twisted and probably broken, while the fur on his opposite shoulder had been torn open, exposing the flesh and tendons beneath.

"I walked into an ambush. My sneak attack backfired." When he noticed Diago, he gave a somewhat embarrassed grin, but it looked worse than crying.

"Matolius isn't one of those brainless idiots! You think you can ambush me? Not a chance!" that rough voice roared. Immediately afterward, a plate-armored Dark Iron Dwarf charged out of the room with a clatter.

But an arrow flying toward him forced him to abandon his attack. He raised the flat of his axe, and the arrow struck it with a sharp ping.

Taking advantage of this opening, Masley limped back a few steps, putting some distance between himself and the enemy.

This dwarf had a great fiery-red beard, a rarity among the Dark Iron Dwarves, whose beards were white, black, or one of the many shades of gray in between. He carried a dwarven battleaxe that gleamed coldly in the dim passage.

"Aha, another accomplice!" He noticed Diago's arrival, but the additional enemy clearly did not frighten him. On the contrary, he seemed even more excited.

"You'll regret this! This isn't somewhere any old nobody can just wander into!" he shouted boldly, but Diago suspected he was calling for guards.

Sure enough, the fact that no guards rushed out of the room left Matolius somewhat taken aback, but he immediately regained his composure.

"Come on, you unweaned brats!" Matolius waved his axe and shouted fearlessly.

Two against one, Diago had even less reason to be afraid. Well, one and a half against one-even wounded, Masley counted as half a fighter. He nocked an arrow and drew his bow, aiming at the Dark Iron Dwarf, while the black panther hugged one side of the passage and circled toward the dwarf's flank and rear.

Matolius raised his battleaxe and took a charging stance, but the next instant, he treacherously pointed at the black panther behind him to one side, unleashing a burst of invisible shadow energy.

"Pain!" he shouted.

Masley had been completely deceived by the Dark Iron Dwarf's rugged appearance. He had not even prepared to dodge when he pounced-in fact, the airborne black panther could not have done so anyway. He fell stiffly out of the air, as though he had struck an invisible wall. The panther curled up his limbs and rolled on the ground, his entire body convulsing. His mouth gaped open, his face contorted and his fangs bared, but he could not make a sound-not even a scream. Intense pain surged along his nerves into his brain, as though countless knives were slicing his flesh and hacking at his bones at once.

Shadow Word: Pain! Diago knew this spell. It was a divine spell exclusive to Shadow Priests, using shadow energy to stimulate an enemy's sense of pain and render them incapable of fighting. In severe cases, it could even cause irreversible physical injuries. Someone had once speculated that the human body could withstand at most 45 units of pain, but the agony inflicted by this divine spell could reach as high as 60!

Diago was almost dumbstruck. This dwarf was actually a Priest! He had never imagined that a dwarven Warrior clad entirely in plate armor could cast a Priest's divine spells. It completely defied his understanding. This was neither magical nor scientific!

But he knew he had to do something, or the Night Elf might actually die of pain. He nocked an arrow and drew his bow faster than ever before, firing at the dwarven Priest. Yet just before the arrow struck the dwarf, he heard the Dark Iron Dwarf shout cruelly, "Shield!"

An oval shield of holy power appeared between him and the Dark Iron Dwarf. The arrow struck the translucent shield and bounced off-Holy Word Shield. Until the holy power within that shield was exhausted, no attack could harm the dwarven Priest behind it.

Diago bitterly regretted giving the firearm in the demon backpack to Tharnok Frosthammer. When it came to penetrating power, even the most basic firearm far surpassed a bow and arrow.

Diago made his decision within a tenth of a second. He charged swiftly toward the dwarf, but his hands never stopped moving: draw an arrow, pull the string, release. He repeated those three motions again and again. Over a mere thirty meters, he fired five arrows, making the divine shield tremble continuously like rippling water.

Diago finally reached the dwarf. He felt he had never run so fast in his life. After firing his last arrow, he dropped the Catalpa Bow and drew the hand axe at his thigh.

He drew only one hand axe to ensure that he could concentrate all his strength into it. He adjusted his strides so he could exert his greatest strength just as he reached his opponent. At last, he charged up to the dwarf and, like a diving bird of prey, swung his hand axe in a full arc and brought it down hard.

To his surprise, Matolius did nothing. He merely watched his opponent mockingly, his face full of scorn. He trusted the power of his divine spell too much, not even raising his battleaxe to block.

The next instant, the thorium hand axe cleaved through the divine shield in a flash of emerald light, as though bursting a soap bubble. Then, its momentum unspent, the axe bit into the dwarf's body.

"Ragnaros!" A piercing wail rang throughout the passage, echoing within it. But it was already too late. The dwarf staggered back a step and fell flat on his back with a thud.

"Fine blow, human!" the dwarf praised him defiantly. It was in this race's nature to keep up appearances even when beaten. He strained to turn his neck, trying to look at the enormous wound on his body, but he could not. Massive blood loss had drained all his strength. That ferocious blow had split his blood-drenched left shoulder from the base of his neck down to his armpit, leaving it barely attached by a few muscle fibers.

"What a fool I've been. Ragnaros deceived me. The power he gave me wasn't nearly as great as he claimed..." the Dark Iron Dwarf, who had forsaken Khaz'goroth the Forger to worship the Fire Elemental Lord, confessed at the end. He wanted to say something more, but crimson blood bubbled up from his mouth, choking off his words.

A few seconds later, his life was completely gone. His face turned deathly pale-not the natural pallor of the Dark Iron Dwarves, but a pallor without a trace of life. The dark-red eyes bestowed upon him by his firelord master also turned the grayish white of a dead fish's.

But Diago had no time to spare for him now. As the dwarf fell, he dropped his axe and ran to the Night Elf. He knew what the outcome would be. That axe blow, into which he had poured almost all his physical and mental strength, had been so powerful that he could not have repeated it even if given another chance.

"How are you feeling, Masley?" Diago turned over the black panther, who had curled into a ball. He saw that his eyes had rolled back and white froth was spilling from the corners of his mouth, soaking his whiskers and fur.

Although Diago knew First Aid and could bandage external wounds, he was helpless against the nerve damage inflicted by this spell. He sat on the ground with his legs spread, resting the big cat's head on his thigh and gently stroking his fur. The once sleek, glossy black coat was now tangled and disheveled, trembling constantly along with its owner.

But Diago could feel the big cat's trembling easing. Although it was very gradual, his condition was undoubtedly improving.

Sure enough, after a while, the black panther finally stopped trembling and slowly opened his golden eyes. As his surroundings gradually came into focus, Masley Bearhide blinked and saw Diago looking down at him.

"I'm still alive?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes, my friend, you're still alive," Diago confirmed with a smile. He felt on the verge of tears. This was far too embarrassing. As a man, how could he start crying just like that? To be honest, he could not even remember how long it had been since he last cried. Cold reality had long since dried up his tear glands.

"Can you believe it, buddy? For a moment, I felt like my soul was being torn apart. It hurt so fucking much," the Night Elf said tearfully. Although he had not been pampered growing up, he had never experienced anything like this. After all, Shadow Priests were exceedingly rare in elven society, which generally revered goodness. Low-ranking Night Elf Priests were strictly forbidden from learning shadow spells.

However, although Night Elf Priests rejected shadow, they still had Shadow Priests of their own. That might sound contradictory, but in life, there were always things one hated yet had to do. Those versed in shadow spells were mostly secret members of the Sisterhood of Elune, responsible for interrogating and passing judgment on the most heinous criminals among the elves.

The Night Elf rested for about a quarter of an hour, and strength gradually returned to his body. Feeling recovered, the Druid panther rose and, with some difficulty, changed back into humanoid form. Diago saw that his elbow was bent backward. It was probably dislocated, but that was far less serious than the fracture he had imagined.

Masley grasped his forearm with one hand, gently twisted and pushed, and reset the joint with a crack. The deftness of the movement made Diago's eyelids twitch uncontrollably. The Night Elf moved his arm a few times, found that he could still use it, and casually cast Healing Touch on himself. The healing spell restored his arm considerably, but the intense pain still proved difficult to dispel completely. However, after experiencing Shadow Word: Pain, the Night Elf clearly no longer took this little bit of pain seriously.

Diago looked at the young Night Elf with admiration. Honestly, the elven youth before him could already be considered a true man. After his baptism in blood and fire, this man looked stronger and more mature.

"We should go. There's still plenty to do!" Masley glanced at the Dark Iron Dwarf's corpse on the ground and headed outside. "Tharnok Frosthammer needs our help!"

The commotion they had just made had evidently already reached the mining site. Diago heard the bangs of gunfire coming from that direction.

The two headed out. As they passed Matolius's corpse, Diago bent down, chopped off the dwarf's head with his hand axe, and put it into the cloth sack he had prepared beforehand. At some point, the former shut-in had grown accustomed to such bloody business.

Note: Unlike D&D Priests, who could wear plate armor and fight at close quarters with maces, the Priests of Azeroth could wear only cloth robes. They worshipped the deities of their respective races and devoted themselves to preaching, spreading their faith, and using holy power to save people from suffering. Their divine spells leaned more toward healing and protection. But for various reasons, some Priests took the path of shadow, exploring the power of the soul's dark side and using power drawn from shadow to bring destruction and collapse.

The Priest of Azeroth was just such a contradictory class. They maintained the balance between light and shadow and restrained themselves through discipline.-Excerpt from Priest Handbook-The Balance of Light and Shadow.

But there were exceptions. In Azeroth, plate-wearing Priests and Mages, though rare, did exist. Rhonin, an archmage of the Kirin Tor, for instance, often paraded through the streets in plate armor. (Another account claimed that this idiot had been stripped of the right to wear mage robes for making a mistake.-"Rhonin? He isn't even qualified to wear mage robes anymore!"-the Kirin Tor's Council of Mages, The Day of the Dragon.) Of course, if you did not have Rhonin's skills, you had better stick to cloth armor. Otherwise, you might end up like the Illidari Battlemages of the Black Temple, casting the same handful of spells over and over.